“You’re lying,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”

“Ten years ago, my father was drowning in gambling debt to the syndicate,” Marcus said, his eyes glittering with malice.

“Damiano Ricci bought him.”

“He funded every single deal that put me in office.”

“He made me,” Marcus said, his grip loosening just enough for me to see the dark triumph in his eyes.

“The zoning codes he wants? He helped me write them so he could build his docks.”

“And now he’s destroying me to cover his own tracks before the feds find his signature on my trusts.”

I felt the cold stone of the column behind my back.

The reality of his words hit me like a physical blow.

I heard a slow, measured step on the marble floor behind us.

I looked past Marcus’s shoulder.

Damiano was standing at the entrance of the corridor, his face completely pale in the bright gallery lights.

His hand was buried in his coat pocket, resting on the shape of his weapon.

He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw hesitation in his gray eyes.